1. |
mottled light
02:08
|
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2. |
in altar wine
05:34
|
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|
wake and behold the
lark in your clothing
that can’t make it out
you found it boring
these waves all unmooring
ships in the sound
coastal lights
and hotel wine
watered-down
olden rites
that still don’t quite
figure out
what now?
we could be holy,
or maybe we’re only,
haunting your house
and burnt in your mouldings,
our words writ in mourning,
heard from without
a father’s lies,
in altar wine,
watered-down
squandered time,
and all our shrines,
never found
there’s a sound
like a railroad comin’
always westward runnin’
from the rising sun and
there’s a sound
like the fall of summer
like a call of thunder
‘fore the rains wash under
there’s a sound like
there’s a sound like
but I don’t quite like
feeling like this
there’s a sound like
there’s a sound like
but I don’t quite like
feeling like this
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3. |
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|
go throw away your clothes
they’re not worth saving, you know
go through the pockets before,
though there won’t be much need anymore
for whatever they still store
and- hide your face in the cloth,
love is not as you thought
hide your frame in your laws,
you do not know what it costs,
and you didn’t account for the loss
(ah)
so
hide your face in the frost,
love is not what you thought,
pine away just like Faust,
but you didn’t know what it cost,
hide your face in the frost,
love is not what you thought,
pine away just like Faust,
but you didn’t know what it cost,
and you didn’t count on a loss
|
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4. |
||||
|
what will you do?
with that dagger on you
will you run me through?
and in awhile
with all that you can't reconcile
will all those miles do?
all this wandering,
waning, won't mean much
all this squandering,
feigning a loving touch
I'll let you down
what will you do?
what, with that sword above you
might it all fall soon?
and in your eyes
a face that you recognize
might all its lies be truth?
all this wandering,
waning, won't mean much
all this squandering,
feigning a loving touch
all this pondering
painless, but not enough
all this laundering
raiments still caked in dust
I'll let you down
some nights go quiet
some nights don't quite end
some nights go quiet
some nights don't quite end
some nights go quiet
some nights don't end
|
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5. |
the lamplighter
03:34
|
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|
light a candle when the moon goes out
wouldn’t want for you to fall
all along our wastrel route
clad in nothing but our shawls
mmmmm mmm
mmmmmm mmm
in the dark I can see them clear
little candles in the south
how am I to eat your fears
my own are filling up my mouth
mmmmmm mmm
mmmmm mmm
how am I to wake from bed?
how am I to raise your dead?
how am I to shake this dread?
how am I to waste instead?
how am I to wake from bed?
how am I to raise your dead?
how am I to shake this dread?
how am I to waste instead?
|
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6. |
bell weather
02:47
|
|||
|
go to sleep
all could be a dream
or a memory
of what you used to be
up to your knees
where all the waters meet
all the fallen leaves
swim across your feet
severed from all their trees
oh yeah
do you know about it
do yah?
oh yeah
do you know about it
do yah?
do you know about it?
go to sleep
further in the reeds
keeping what you need
while picking out the seeds
underneath
the waters that we breach
lie the rotting teeth
of what we try to see
but it’s something too harrowing
oh yeah
do you know about it
do yah?
oh yeah
do you know about it
do yah?
do you know about it?
do yah?
|
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7. |
french broom
03:15
|
|||
|
wasting must
sure look good on us,
we’ll tell you when we’ve had enough
of sifting
answers from the dust
painted rust
on the railroad truss,
we know where it will carry us,
to a place we
once were nameless
won’t you tell them,
we’re all doing just fine
the water’s swelling,
must be a state of mind
take her stone
out from the catacombs
I promise none
will ever know
who's there to tell them,
but the bones?
tell the crows,
we know what they know,
and hell, if they still want to go,
we’ll meet them
on the willow road
but won’t you tell them,
we’re all doing just fine
all this melting,
must be all in our minds
were we hellbent
were we wrong the whole time
this malignance
burning out the inside
|
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8. |
the sea weaver
04:26
|
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|
the sea weaver
reap
what you need
it was not meant to be
but believe
that the weaver
speaks
for the sea
“don’t you know,
it’s not as it seems though
don’t you know,
it’s not as it seems”
sleep,
bound in leaves, dear
beneath the trees,
near the stream.
buried in a dream,
when something screams
“don’t you know,
it’s not as it seems though
don’t you know,
it’s not as it seems”
as it seems...
ooh
has he gone half crazy,
running down the road?
ooh,
does he know what’s waiting,
reaping all we’ve sown?”
weep
if you need
to water the weeds
at your feet
trying not to breathe
won’t make you free
don’t you know,
it’s not as it seems though
don’t you know,
it’s not as it seems
don’t you know,
it’s not as it seems though
don’t you know,
it’s not as it seems
as it seems...
ooh
have you gone half crazy,
running down the road?
ooh,
do you know what’s waiting,
reaping all we’ve sown?
|
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9. |
inkstones
03:54
|
|||
|
darlin’ am I
like a bird out passin’
your house
or caught in the tide
like a stone thrown, cast
further out
and I’ll never know
why the ocean’s
been holding me close
it was a moment ago
but when I’d woken
the mountains arose
(eidolon, eidolon, eidolon, eidolon)
darlin’ am I
like the cold loam lifting
the pines
or a knot left untied
while your rowboat drifts
out of sight
and I don’t know why,
why the ocean’s still
holding me tight
but scrying waves in the sky
I suppose I could
stay for a time
|
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10. |
little weavings
04:37
|
|||
|
my daughter
while you’re sleepin’
I’ve been weaving leaves
in your mother’s hair
the garden
could use keepin’
but I fear the wolves
still creeping out there
and these hands are without
these hands are without
and this body’s without
and this body’s without
my daughter
while you’re sleepin’
your mother’s stealing reeds
from the riverside
and she’s wrought a
raft with string to
ply the swelling streams
when the waters rise
for your god is without
your god is without
and our garden’s without
our garden’s without
with all our pretty bibles
balking at the wilds still growin;
and if all of this were needless,
all the forest seems to know it
with all our pretty bibles
squalling for revival
if all of this was something,
it soon enough meant nothing
and maybe in awhile,
we will finally come to notice
|
||||
11. |
ash / aster
04:18
|
|||
|
fall asleep
in the morning
listen for the north wind,
listen for the trees
calling thee,
teeth forlorning,
something altar-scorning
buried neath the weeds
ash and aster
round thee scattered,
rabbits rapture,
trappers tattered
alabaster
Halifaxer
running faster
grasping from the gloom
still they'll never know you
still they'll never know you
wash your feet
in the creekbed
dowerless and heathen
but daughter ye are free
in the stream
words unreelin'
maps of other seasons
older than the sea
ash and aster
round thee scattered,
rabbits rapture,
trappers tattered
alabaster
Halifaxer
running faster
running faster
ash and aster
stags that canter,
'pon their antlers
lanterns gathered
alabaster
Halifaxer
running after your
tomb
still they'll never know you
still they'll never know you
|
||||
12. |
the rivening
01:27
|
|||
|
get away, get away
I’ll be stacking graves
til old age
gangway, gangway
I’ll be stacking crates
til the end of days
I’ll be stacking crates
til they say
gateway, gateway
I just have to
brace til end of days
gangway, gangway
I was ever wasted
and contained
I’ll be stacking crates
til they say
|
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13. |
old hickory
05:45
|
|||
|
sleepless nights
I have known, I have known
bloodied eyes
down the road
and fool am I
to ignore,
all this time,
I haven’t grown
and so I’ve sown my face
on inside my room,
and I have worn my names,
and dressed my wounds, and dressed my wounds
and there in woven lace
upon the loom
a place between a place,
is seeping through
moonless nights
I have known, I have known
stolen light
inside it’s throat
and fool am I
to erode,
all these binds,
that hold me closed
so go enfold your face,
inside your room,
and won’t you wear your names,
and dress your wounds, to dress your wounds
and there like golden lace,
upon your loom,
a place between a place,
is peering through
|
||||
14. |
the hemlock tree
02:45
|
|||
|
come down from the wall
little bird
quit squalling
it’s all for nothing
little bird
you’re much too small
little bird
your scrawling
is only suffering
who knows,
who knows?
little bird
don’t you know what you are
little bird
a haunting
like a ghost
departing
little bird
don’t you wander so far
little bird
my starling
it will soon be starting
who knows,
who knows?
|
||||
Wickerbird Seattle, Washington
Ruminations and stories and the sounds that came of them.
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